chase the wind and touch the sky
by MyVintageLove
Summary: AU. It takes a dead knight to turn Killian into a jousting champion. It takes a horse and a stick, four friends, and a stubborn princess to turn him into a knight. They say a man can change his star; his is starting to shine brighter.
1. introduction

"I have bad news and very bad news."

With a sigh, Killian checks the girth one last time before he turns to his friend, patting the mare's neck. He's in no mood for Graham's riddles, not with only three hours of sleep behind him and another long night awaiting. So he only gives the other man a raise of the eyebrow, a silent question.

"Sir Maurice has to be in the list in five minutes."

Killian sighs. Did he mention he was not in the mood for riddles? "Is that the bad or the really bad?"

"The bad. The really bad is that, well…" Graham glances behind his shoulder. "Sir Maurice is dead."

"What the…"

Killian lets go of the horse and runs to the tent, only to find Jefferson throwing a fist, half mad, at their knight. He screams and shakes his arms and, oh bloody hell, even slaps Sir Maurice in hope it will wake him up – in vain, of course. Killian has to stop him before he goes for a kick in the belly, holding him back while Jefferson keeps screaming like a madman.

"Wake up, you old fool! Let go of me, Killian, or I swear… Get the hell up and win that bloody tournament so you can finally pay us! Three days! I haven't eaten in three days and…"

It ends in a groan, from both him and Killian, when Graham throws a bucket of cold water at his face, but it works – Jefferson finally shuts up. The three of them stare at each other until they're all startled by a cough from outside the tent. A squire looks at them warily, especially when Graham and Killian both move to hide the interior of the tent from him, innocent grins on their lips.

"Sir Maurice must report in two minutes."

"Two minutes. All right. We'll be there." Killian's grin grows wider, and perhaps crazier, as the squire takes in his wet body then tries to peek above his shoulder. Still he leaves them, and the three friends go back to their staring contest for a moment or two.

"We cannot declare forfeit," Jefferson says out loud what they're all thinking. "We need the money. We need _the food_."

"We cannot _not _declare forfeit either. He's _dead_!"

Jefferson is about to start another angry speech when Killian, looking at the dead body of their knight, deadpans, "I'll do it."

"You what?"

"I'll do it. I'll ride in his place."

All Graham can do is laugh, a hollow cold sound, as he grabs the other squire by the shoulder to face him. "Here's some news for you, Killian Jones, son of a blacksmith: you are not a knight. You cannot rid in a tournament because _you are not a knight_."

"I know that and you know that but…" Graham groans when a genuine grin appears on Killian's lips, the one that means business and mischief. "But those people don't know that. And when I'll have the helmet on, all they will see is Sir Maurice on his horse and we'll be _fine_."

"This is madness. You can't joust!" Jefferson exclaims, and Graham points at him above his shoulder with a nod, as if those were true words of wisdom. But Killian's grin never disappears, not even when he grabs the helmet by Sir Maurice's side.

"I can ride and I can hold a spear. How hard can it be?"

.

As a matter of fact, harder than he thought. Killian tries not to be too overwhelmed by the fear as his horse gallops toward the other knight but then he forgets how to breath when the spears meets his chest in a loud bang – not enough to have him fall, but enough to see stars for a second. _This was a terrible idea_, and it sounds like Graham's voice in his head. But he can't stop, not now, not on an empty stomach, not when his friends count on him to succeed.

So he goes for another round, and then another.

He can't help the scream, the howl of pain when the spear hits his head so violently he almost tumbles off. But then he hears Jefferson's mad screams and Graham's laughs and, even if the pain barely allows him to look behind, he doesn't need to because he knows – the knight fell down his horse. They won. They won, both the horse and the tournament, and Killian's stomach groans in anticipation, and _they won_.

The lord gives him his prize, a little bag of golden coins, barely complaining that he can't see his champion's face – Killian is not exactly sure how they're going to put the helmet off, and they obviously can't do that now. So he accepts the prize and the cheers with a bow of his head, glad that the helmet hides his huge grin.

From the corner of his eye, he catches the sight of long blond hair as one of the ladies leaves the grounds, right before Jefferson claps his thigh with too much strength. Killian glares back at him, but his friend keeps laughing and chanting "food food _food_". Killian can only laugh with him, and Graham follows after only a few seconds.

They must look like lunatics, but he doesn't find it in himself to care.


	2. Chapter 1

First of all: yes, it is obviously a Knight's Tale rewrite. Second: thank you for the nice feedback already!  
Also, I quite imagine the Enchanted Forest to be like old England: a lot of little kingdoms forming a bigger one. In that case, Charming and Snow are on the top of the hierarchy. Meaning that, even if Aurora still is a princess, she's of lower rank than Emma. Does it make sense? I hope so.

* * *

Emma's breath catches in her chest as Aurora pulls on the laces of her corset with too much strength for such a small body. She huffs her annoyance but her lady-in-waiting chooses to ignore her, used to the princess's bad mood when it comes to clothing. She pulls a bit more, then again, before delicately knotting the two strands of lace at the bottom. Aurora then helps her putting the dress on, and that's how Mulan finds them when she enters the royal quarters, fighting with lace and tulle. The warrior stifles a laugh, earning a glare from Emma.

"Don't you dare."

Mulan holds her hands in surrender but the smile remains on her lips, and Emma huffs once more. She hates that, the clothes and the hair and people staring at her like she's some prize, like she's nothing more than a source of gossip. She hates this game of appearances and would give anything to be able to wearing breeches and a sword, just like her bodyguard. But, alas, she didn't prove herself in battle like Mulan did, so dresses and etiquette it is.

Aurora still lacing her dress, Emma looks at the other woman above her shoulder with a little nod; she knows Mulan must be caring a message. And, indeed, she bows a little, a biggest grin on her lips – good news it is.

"Baelfire has been called back on the battlefield. He won't be at the tournament today."

A laugh bubbles out of her before she can stop it, and Emma presses her fingers to her lips in fake composure. "Pray tell me, is he fighting the Ogres or he is one of them? I can never remember."

"Emma!"

Mulan purses her lips not to laugh while Aurora gives her an offended look than Emma brushes off with another smile. Aurora is still young, barely sixteen, and innocent; she'll understand soon enough. So instead, Emma focuses on her hair and the fact that yes Baelfire won't be there, _thanks the heavens_. Pretending not to mind his wooing is even more tiring than pretending not to mind any other lord's wooing and she is glad for the break his absence gives her. Maybe she'll finally be able to enjoy the jousting in peace.

As on queue with her thoughts, the trumpets outside announce the beginning of the tournament. Of course, Aurora starts panicking immediately because she is not ready, and Emma can only roll her eyes at the youngest princess while she looks for her shoes, her hairpin. She shares a meaningful glance with Mulan and rolls her eyes a second time before grabbing Aurora by the arm, telling her that she looks lovely in a reassuring tone.

They sit with the other guests, Mulan standing right behind them with a hand on the pommel of her sword, Aurora easily beginning to rambling about this knight or that lady. Emma listens, a smile on her lips, almost jealous of how at ease Aurora is, used to the gossips and the whispers – Emma has never been able to do that, to care much about the love stories and the scandals. So she listens, laughs every so often, and waits for the tournament to begin.

It is only a small one, barely more than twenty knights, but it doesn't disappoint her.

Her father's men are good and skilled, putting on a show for the crowd's enjoyment, obviously having fun in the process. Emma can only admire their technique, envious once again, how they hold the lance, ride the horse, like nothing scares them, like they're not facing death.

(Knights don't die in jousting, it's not death as much as the adrenaline of the moment they're facing, but Emma likes to pretend otherwise, if only because it makes her heart beat faster.)

Aurora gossips about that one and praises this one's handsome face, and Mulan comments on their fighting choices. Overall, Emma enjoys herself – more than if Baelfire were there to keep her company, that's for sure – and she even gasps along with the crowd when a lance hits Sir Maurice right in the face, almost breaking his helmet. Aurora's gasp is even louder, and Emma has to grab her by the arm for her not to jump on her feet in alarm.

The other knight falls and Sir Maurice wins, which is even more impressive, and then comes the prize giving, all in bows and sickening formalities.

"I'm bored," she says to Mulan, who nods in response. It takes some convincing for Aurora to follow them out of the grounds and back to their tent. When they lie together in bed at night, legs entangled and whispering to each other, Aurora says, "Prince Phillip is very handsome, don't you think? It's so bad he lost to Sir Maurice." and Emma senses the difference in her voice, the longing. She sighs, before of course her lady-in-waiting would be the one to fall in love at first sight when Emma can't even have a decent conversation with a man without being bored after five minutes.

"Yes, I guess he is…" is all she says, falling asleep not long after that.

.

They meet Victor in all his (naked) glory on the side of the road.

They've been travelling for two weeks now, training on mornings and walking on afternoons, getting ready for the next tournament – Killian isn't still quite sure how he managed to convince them both that it would be a good idea, but he _did_, and here they are.

A lot of people have crossed their path until then but a naked blond man walking on the side of the road… Well, that's new.

Killian frowns at him from the top of his horse, then frowns at Jefferson who seems equally surprised, then at Graham who shrugs in reply. Especially since the man barely seems to notice them, humming an unknown song to himself and strutting like it's nobody's business. Definitely off his rocker, this one.

"Excuse me, sir?" Killian ignores both his friends trying to stop him. "Are you all right?"

Killian dismounts, handing the reins to Graham before carefully approaching the stranger. The man seems to notice he isn't alone and, when he finally looks at Killian, it's with a madness in his eyes that isn't without reminding of Jefferson when he's throwing a fit. Which isn't reassuring at all. There's madness in his smile too, and Killian can only reply with a nervous grin, wondering if they're going to die by the hand of a naked lunatic.

"You know what?" he finally says, pointing a finger at Killian who can only jump back in surprise. "Never ever _ever_ mistake a pixie for a fairy. Same size, same little glow, but pixies are dangerous little creatures. _Very_ dangerous little creatures."

Killian only nods at first, doing his best not to gulp too loudly or to look at his friends behind him – breaking eye contact seems dangerous, for a reason. "Is that how you lost your clothes, mate?"

The blond man replies with a hollow laugh. "Indeed. Well, no, not really. Stripped me of my clothes, yes, but not because I thought they were fairies."

Killian waits for more, but the man only stares at him. "All right… Care to tell me who you are, then."

"The name is Victor. Victor Frankenstein." He says that with a sense of finality, like it's supposed to ring a bell – it doesn't. Killian tilts his head before looking at his friends with a rise of the eyebrow, but they both seems as confused as he is. "_Doctor _Frankenstein?" Victor goes on. "The scientist? Wrote many books, been published, huge discovery in the field of medicine? No? Nothing?"

Killian shakes his head, which makes Victor sighs deeply – not like he's angry, just disappointed apparently. Oh well, crazy man, not everybody's reputation precedes them.

Looking above Killian's shoulder, Victor takes in their strange little group – Graham still holding the mare, Jefferson holding the pony that pulls their cart full of lances and armours, the horse they won following peacefully. They haven't had any problem until then, but Killian has no doubt they must look odd at best because none of them actually look like a knight, not with their old breeches and dirty faces.

"Who are you, exactly?"

Killian puffs his chest, even so slightly. "Well, I am Sir James of Eton, and those are my squire, Jefferson and Graham."

"Eton, _really_? Why not Lord of Neverland, while you're at it? No, no, better, why not King Arthur Pendragon?"

Killian's dagger is on Victor's throat in an instant, his eyes suddenly a darker blue. "Hold your tongue or I'll cut it, _scientist_."

Victor gives his a brief yet huge grin. "That I believe, my lord." Then, after a break, "I'm afraid it won't be enough for what you have in mind, though."

"What do you mean?"

"The tourney. They will ask for your letter patents and I'm afraid that…" He does a little sound then that conveys the words he's not saying.

Confused, Killian lets go of his throat to look at Graham. The squire is at lost too, and so might be Jefferson because, _of course_, it is something they didn't think of when elaborating their little plan.

"All right, listen," Victor says when he realises none of them is going to move any time soon. "I know my way around words. Feed me, clothe me, and bring me to the closest town with fairies. I will help you."

A simple glance between the three friend and they silently agree to move away from Victor to talk about it between them. Of course, Jefferson immediately wants to refuse where Killian immediately wants to agree and, of course, it's Graham who has to choose in the end – even if they don't seem like they have much of a choice. When they finally look back at Victor, he has a smug grin on his lips.

"All right. But no funny business or I'll take more than your tongue."

Victor bows to Killian with as much sarcasm as one can put in such a gesture. "Thank you for your kindness, my lord."

.

It takes them another week to arrive to the next tournament, a little kingdom Killian has never heard of before, with an even smallest town. To their surprise – and relief – Victor presents the letter patents and nothing terrible happens.

"I present you Lord James of Eton, son of John, son of Michael." The hosts accept them without second thought and tell them where they can make camp. Killian is so relieved he lets out a breathless laugh as he grabs Victor by the shoulder.

"Be my herald and you'll have your share of the winnings."

"It'd be an honour, my lord," Victor replies with a little bow and a twinkle in his eyes – Killian knows he can be trusted, only because he enjoys the scam as much as everyone else.

They set up camp and take care of the horses before nightfall and then split up for the night, not without a reminder that they need to be up at dawn so alcohol might not be such a good idea. Killian is the last one to leave and, after a moment or two of thinking, he decides to take the horse and visit the town – it's been so long since the last time he simply wandered around.

* * *

Don't worry, the meeting is coming!  
And can you guess which lovely lady will soon become the fifth musketeer?


End file.
